


Too Cold To Be With You // Countryhumans RusAme

by CandyZONE



Category: CountryHumans, Countryballs
Genre: BoyxBoy, CountryHumans - Freeform, Countryballs - Freeform, Cute, Domestic Violence, Fluff, Gay, M/M, RusAme, RussiaxAmerica - Freeform, Ship, Suicidal Thoughts, domestic abuse, lovestory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 12:45:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18941227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandyZONE/pseuds/CandyZONE
Summary: It's been about thirty years since the breakaway of the USSR, and yet, still, Russia can't seem to find the courage in himself to move on. He is stuck in the past, and the first person to come to his rescue is none other than America. Can the two countries change their current relationship despite Russia's mindset? Or will they forever be cold towards one another?(Original book on Wattpad)





	1. Confused Feelings

"Hey Russia," America said with the click of his pen. It shouldn't have been obvious, but the worry was evidently strong in the American's eyes. "Your evil alter ego is really getting out of control, you know?"

Russia raised a brow and crossed his arms. "My what?"

"Your commie pal or whatever." The American shuddered, as an all-too-familiar chill went up his spine and the temperature in the room significantly dropped in less than a minute.

"Are you talking about Soviet Union?"

"That's what I said, right?"

Russia cupped his fists. "Being communist doesn't make him evil!" A tiny smile spread across America's face. He knew it irritated the Russian when he brought up the past, but that's just what made him want to tease him even more. His reaction was too cute.

"Whatever you say. Just get 'em off my back, please. I have far more important things to do..." The American's eyes wandered aimlessly around the room.

"Like what, exactly?"

As if right on cue, the door to America's office burst open and a representative walked in with a phone in his hands. "America, sir! Trump is administrating the wall plan!" America smiled again, lifting up his sunglasses to reveal his sky blue eyes.

"See? Important things to do, Russia." The Russian rolled his eyes. "Later, dude." America waved goodbye and walked side by side, next to his representative.

Russia sighed and felt as the air grew warmer as America left. It annoyed him how much better it was without him—how much it hurt when America was beside him. It was almost as if like the Cold War had never ended.

...

"What exactly makes him think I can do anything about Soviet anyways? That bastard does whatever he wants, whenever he wants to," Russia sighed and took a sip of whatever the bartender gave him. He couldn't exactly remember what it was, but it was strong enough to burn his mouth.

"Что же мне делать?" (What am I supposed to do?)

He looked over to see a small table on his right with a group of countries, arguing amongst themselves. He noted how much smaller they were in comparison to him and assumed they were European countries.

"I'm not going to sign the pact you bloody git! How am I supposed to grow my economy with your currency?" The Englishman raised his voice as the few others sitting beside him lowered their heads.

France looked as if he was going to fall asleep amidst the group. "Why is this even a conversation anymore? We get it, you're special, Monsieur."

"You complain to be part of a group of countries under one name, but isn't that what the UK stand for?" Poland asked. The glare he got from England made him widen his eyes in worry. "I meant nothing by that, sorry."

The fight went on endlessly. Russia knew he had no business in their talk and blocked out their needless conversation sooner rather than later. It wasn't until someone approached him when he averted his attention back to the yelling.

"Hey, Russia." It was Germany. He hasn't talked to him in a while, so it was nice to finally get a chance to catch up with him.

"Germany, how've you been?"

"Pretty well, generally speaking. Can't say the same for you though. You're looking rough." Russia's eyes dulled, but a small smile made it's way to his face. He tried to keep it up for as long as possible, but the more he did, the more he thought about how easy it would've been for America to do it.

Russia balanced the drink in one hand, leaning on the other one, hopelessly. "I'm just thinking of what to say to Soviet Union so that he'd leave America alone. Any ideas?"

Germany looked a little surprised. "You're still dealing with him?"

"I don't think I can survive without him," Russia explained. Something about that made him a tad bit more emotional, and Germany easily caught on.

"Take it from me, Russia. I know it hasn't been that long for you, but you need to move on," he said in a charismatic voice, trying to lift the Russian's spirits.

Russia shook his head in disagreement. "I can't. Not yet at least. Besides, he's all I got now."

"What about Belarus and Ukraine? They're your neighbors, right?" Germany tried to sound hopeful.

"I don't know. What if they still haven't forgiven me for what I did to them? Meanwhile, that American jerk has the audacity to bully me about my past."

"You probably shouldn't take him seriously though." Germany sheepishly laughed out of nervousness. "We all have some kind of issues we have to deal with—even America."

"Yeah, but..." Russia clenched his fists. Why does he have to think so much about that American idiot anyway? There were so many others who were actually close to him who he could focus on instead. "I think he hates me. I think that's why I'm always cold around him too," Russia said out of guilt. It's not like he could control it either.

"What about you?" Germany asked, "Do you hate him?"

"No! .... Okay, maybe a little. But that's just because he's so stubborn all the time. He also jokes about serious topics when he knows that they hurt me, like when he talks about Soviet Union..."

"Maybe you should to see what Soviet is really doing to annoy him so much. Maybe America has a point?"

Russia nodded, "Yeah, you're right."

...

"I'm home..." He looked around at his apartment and sighed. "Right, nobody's here..." It was a bad habit of his. He used to live in a huge mansion with many countries. Now, it just just him and Soviet Union in a small, worn down, apartment.

Russia looked at his reflection through the mirror. He looked so tattered and weak. "God, what's wrong with me!?" His head lowered. He wanted to let out his feelings so badly. It was only a matter of time until his history fades away.

"Hey, pipsqueak."

Startled, Russia turned around swiftly and frowned. "There you are," he said, holding his tears back.

Soviet Union was the only other resident who lived with him. Despite Russia's height of almost seven feet, Soviet was freakishly tall, at least a head taller than Russia. "Looking for me?"

"Well, it shouldn't be hard to find you anyways, since you're retired and all."

"You say that as if it's a bad thing." Soviet Union shrugged in disinterest. "Please, as if I want to be part of your boring country meetings."

"Stop bothering America with whatever you're doing. You know our relationship gets worse when you do." In a quiet tone, he added, "Besides, he gets really upset with me." He didn't expect Soviet to hear but judging by his predecessor's raised brow in question, it was clearly obvious that he did. He even gave an amused chuckle in response.

"Hm, really? That's weird though, I have no idea what you're talking about. You know those no-good Americans though. They'll say anything to get you down."

Russia felt a sweat drop trickle down his face. He hated to admit it, but he was scared to stand up to Soviet Union. He was like a father figure to him after all. "Frankly, I believe them more than I do you. Don't take it personally, Soviet." The annoyed frown suggested that Soviet wasn't too happy to hear that response.

"It almost sounds as if you like that American."

Russia's eyes suddenly dilated as he desperately thought of a way out of this conversation. "Just stop whatever you're doing, okay?"

"So this is what the great Russian empire turned into... A slave to the west. Suit yourself" Getting up from the couch, Soviet displayed his full height. He looked much healthier than Russia did at the moment, and much more intimidating to say the least. "I don't even know why I bother living here."

"W-Where else would you go?" Russia's words stuttered and slurred. His thoughts raced faster than his words, and it was hard for him to keep up the conversation.

"I heard Ukraine has a pretty nice place."

Ukraine... She had to suffer through so much during those times. Russia angered himself the more he thought about it. "She would never let you stay there," he said monotone.

With a menacing grin, Soviet laughed. "Who said I was asking?"

"Stop it, please, Soviet. Just stay here and stop bothering our neighbors, I'm begging you."

"How nice of you to offer, but why would I want to stay here with you? You're only a pathetic version of myself. It's a pity, really, Russia. You could've been so much more." With vile, he grabbed Russia's arm and watched as his touch burned the Russian's skin, the tighter his grasp became. As much as it hurt, the Russian didn't let a noise escape his lips, knowing that nothing he would say would make Soviet stop torturing him. The only thing he could do was make peace with it, and let him do as he pleases, as long as no other country gets hurt.

Soviet laughed and released him. "You're not even fighting back?"

Sucking up the pain he felt from his predecessor, Russia questioned him, "Why should I?"

"Maybe because I'm your enemy?" Russia kept holding his now-injured arm, not saying a word between his breaths. "Tch, See? This is why you're weak." He kicked him down to the floor without retaliation.

"Fine, you've convinced me. I won't bother anyone Russia. On one condition," he said with a cold look in his eyes. "You have to do whatever I tell you to without question." Russia knew this was the only way to protect those around him. He owed them safety.

"Do we have a deal?"

With a struggle, the Russian nodded. If this was supposed to feel like a victory, it sure didn't feel like one to him.


	2. Your Cold Touch

Thick, dusty air surrounded the peaceful country as he organized some boxes on the bookshelf. His brother had asked him to do it while he went to the monthly country meeting. Usually, Canada would join too, but judging from the last couple of times he went, he realized that there wasn't much for him to do there.

Canada picked up one of the boxes sighed, "It's almost like it hasn't changed at all since we were kids."

He has always been the one to sit back while America went off to do something more exciting. As much as that used to bother him before, Canada didn't mind this peaceful life anymore. It was rewarding, actually, to not have to meddle in politics.

He picked up another box when a slip of paper fell from the top and onto his head. He grabbed it, realizing it was a photograph.

It was a picture of them as kids. America was holding England's hand, while Canada was holding France's. It was right before their separation too.

The Canadian bit his lip, putting the photo back on the shelf. Thinking about the past brought both pleasant and unpleasant memories for him. Most of the unpleasant ones were tied with America being hurt.

A sudden call from behind startled him as he balanced himself from falling.

"Hey, Canada!"

"Ukraine!" Canada said, wide-eyed, "What are you doing here?"

She put one hand on her hip and pulled out some paperwork from the other. "I had to drop off some documents. It's nice to see you helping out your brother." She examined the closet, which was still a mess.

"It's a lot more handiwork than you might think. He's never here to do anything himself, so I'm usually filling in for him when it comes to his dirty work," he sighed.

Ukraine nodded as if she had experienced the same treatment herself. "Do you need some help?" she offered.

"I wouldn't mind an extra hand."

It got quiet pretty quickly as Canada tried to think of something to talk about.

"How are things with Russia?" he asked. Ukraine dropped the box she was holding.

"Uh, sorry. Maybe I shouldn't—"

Ukraine waved her hands. "Oh no, it's fine, I'm just surprised that you asked." Canada looked a little relieved. He didn't want stress out the poor small country.

Ukraine sighed hopelessly, "I never really see him. Not after the separation. And he's still living with that jerk so it's not like I can visit him." She said the last bit with anger underlying her voice.

Canada looked down, regretting his decision for asking. "Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize."

"Sorry. I mean, sorry, uh it's a habit" he scratched the back of his head, nervously smiling.

She couldn't help but chuckle a bit. "So, what about you? How are things with you and America?" she asked.

"Well, other than his constant disappearance, I'd say it's going pretty well. Can't say I'm not worried about his crazy president though."

"Like any brother should be."

"Yes, but still. I wish I could be more help to him." He gazed up at the small window in thought, noting how beautifully the sunlight seeped through. Then, he looked back at Ukraine. "I'm kinda just there, you know?"

"I understand what you mean, Canada, I really do. However, I think your safety and well-being is really all America wants from you," she said in a gentle voice.

Canada couldn't help blushing a little from Ukraine's kindness. "We should really hang out more Ukraine."

"I'd love that. Next time, I'll make sure to bring some блины (Russian crepes) to share. I know you like pancakes."

"Then I'll bring the maple syrup." She smiled in response, her beauty radiating from the inside.

Ukraine and I really get along, Canada thought to himself. He wondered why they haven't hung out like this before. They were so similar, after all.

He looked at her as she pushed herself to put all the boxes in the right order. She was such a hard worker too. Then, he remembered. Ukraine was a captive of USSR not too long ago, right? It must have been tough during those times. Canada couldn't imagine going through that on his own.

"Is something wrong, Canada?"

"No, it's nothing," Canada reassured, "Thanks again for your help Ukraine."

...

Lukewarm water rushed down the drain as the Russian pressed his arm up against the cool touch of the water. He didn't sleep at all last night and had only just woken up from a two-hour nap.

"This is such a pain, I swear..." He ripped a piece of a rolled up bandage using his teeth and wrapped it around his right arm.

"I hope no one notices it," he mumbled, leaning against the wall. A flood of thoughts clouded his mind when he suddenly remembered something. "Wasn't there supposed to be a meeting today?" The thought of him forgetting about it was irritating.

"Ughhhh," he groaned, slapping his forehead. Russia then quickly shut off the water faucet and hurried to get dressed.

Taking a few short bus stops, he walked up to the building. He got a few stares here and there but he was pretty much used to it because of his "unusual" height.

As he walked in, countries flung themselves at each other, arguing like usual. He couldn't find the energy to do it himself so, instead, he scanned the room for America. He spotted him talking to Nigeria and without realizing it, eavesdropped on their conversation over some oil issue. He couldn't really make out the details of what they were talking about, but it was enough to keep him entertained.

America soon noticed it, and the Russian quickly looked away. He turned back to see America walking towards his direction and tensed up.

Damnit, he thought, not now...

"Russia?"

He picked his head up. America quickly noted his huge eye bags from a lack of sleep. "H-Huh, yeah? Hi America."

"You showed up late." The American wore his usual sunglasses but the Russian could tell he looked a little worried.

"Yeah, I overslept," he lied

America crossed his arms. He clearly didn't believe him. "You never oversleep. You're too punctual for that, like every other European here."

Russia furrowed his brows in annoyance. "Well, I did this time. Geez, what's your problem anyway? Just leave me alone."

America glanced to Russia's right side and almost touched his arm before the Russian pushed him away vigorously.

"What happened?" America asked while examining his bandages.

"Nothing. Stay away from me." Russia felt the cold rise up again and shuddered. America stepped back.

"Russia," he said.

"W-What?" The Russian answered, curling himself up from the cold.

"You're not doing anything reckless, are you?"

"That's a rich question, coming from you." Russia snarked, trying to change the topic.

"Is it because of—"

"Seriously America, leave me alone," Russia said in a more serious tone, " I'll freeze to death with you around me," he explained, feeling the cold strengthen the more he became attached to the American.

The meeting felt like an eternity, and oddly enough, Russia looked more upset at the fact that he had to go home than him being there. America scrutinized the situation. There was definitely something wrong and he was going to get to the bottom of it, one way or another.


	3. Two Sides Of The Same Coin

The American country passed through the desolate hallway, deep in thought over what happened with him and Russia. He looked outside to see it was already getting dark, and clouds mustered over each other in an orderly fashion, signaling that it was going to rain soon. America placed a hand on the cool glass of the window and looked up the sky.

"Maybe I'm being too harsh on him," he said, muttering to himself.

He recalled the Russian's vicious reaction to him almost touching his bandaged arm, and pondered over it. To be honest, America didn't have the slightest clue why those so-called "chills" were happening in the first place and absolutely despised the idea that he hurt Russia every time he was near him.

"Nah, he must just be overreacting" America tried to convince himself. There was no way Russia would let himself seem so weak in front of him. It wasn't like him to do that.

He searched in his mind for a reasonable answer. Maybe the library has some credible information that can explain this weird phenomenon.

America groaned, "Man, this sucks. I had other plans to do..." He promised Canada to be back home by midnight, and although his advisors weren't as friendly with Mexico as he was, he promised to watch the NFL with him as well.

"I can't believe I don't know anything about Russia. If I did, maybe he wouldn't try to push me away so much." He got a bit sad thinking about it.

Light taps on the window brought America's attention to the sky again. It began raining and was only steadily increasing with each minute. He needed to go now if he didn't want to get soaking wet.

Thankfully, this meeting took place in New York, so it wouldn't be so much of a hassle to find works written in English.

The bus took forever to come, as always, and since it was already pretty late, odd-looking people crowded the bus stations, selling drugs and whatnot.

As soon as he got to the library, he went over to the history section to scan for books. He didn't exactly know where to start since the Russian country was much older than him. He took the oldest looking ones first and began to read them.

About two hours passed with no leads. "I'm so bored. I don't get it. None of this explains his condition." His hopelessness led to thoughts rising in question. Maybe it only happened when he was around? That would change everything.

A sudden noise interrupted the American's internal thoughts. "Who's there?" he called out.

No answer.

A shiver crawled up his spine. His dark surroundings only made things worse, as only a small lit candle at his desk illuminated any light in this huge library. The thought of someone or maybe even something being in the library with him at this hour was a terrifying thought.

"It's just your imagination America, no need to be scared, there's no such thing as ghosts, right?" he caressed himself in calming thoughts.

After a few minutes with no other sound coming from the library, America relaxed and continued his research. Then, literally like a second later, he screamed like a little girl when he felt someone touch his shoulder from behind. He turned around to see that it was an older woman, probably in her late sixties.

"The library's closed after six, you know? What are you doing here so late young man?"

His face flushed red out of embarrassment. "Sorry! I didn't know. I had to look into Russia's history... for a research project?" He sheepishly smiled, hoping the lady would bye into his BS lie.

"I see," she said, nodding. Something about her seemed as if she knew the real reason he was there. "Come with me, I think I can help." America followed her. He was a little confused why she was helping him out, but brushed it off quite quickly when she stopped in front of a random bookshelf.

"I suggest you start here, from the 1950s," she explained, handing him over several books over post-ww2, the arms race, and several other things from less than a century ago.

"Would this tell me about the relationship between our countries?" he asked, examining them.

"I assure you, they should have everything you're looking for." America smiled in response.

"Thank you so much, ma'am."

"But you know," she paused, looking at him dead in the eyes. "-if it's a detailed research paper you're writing, it might be better if you ask someone who's experienced these events first hand."

America thought about it. She has a good point though, should I ask Russia himself? That might not be such a bad idea. He looked back at the lady with a glimpse of hope in his eyes.

"You have someone in mind?" she assumed.

America nodded. "I do. Thanks again for your help."

"Of course, that's my job here after all."

The American focused his determination on healing his relationship with Russia. It's been cold between them way too long. It was about time someone turned on the heater, right?

Everything suddenly faded to black.

A few blinks made America realize he had just woken up from a nap. He rubbed his eyes, yawning and looked around, realizing he was still in the library. It was still raining outside and his candlelight flickered in a dance with each thundering roar.

He felt like he was just talking to someone. He tried to remember who it was, but like most dreams, the memory of it faded away seconds after he woke up. It must've been his imagination.

Then, he looked over at the table in confusion. A few books lay there with no memory of him getting them. Moreover, he noticed that there was a note attached to the top book, reading-Good luck.

...

Meanwhile, across the world, Russia awkwardly sat across Soviet Union, eating breakfast in silence and avoiding any kind of eye contact. He was extremely exhausted, not having to sleep for the last two days because of jet lag. For some reason, most of their meetings were held in New York.

"How was the meeting?"

The sudden question made the Russian tense up, almost spilling his tea. The last thing he wanted to do was to talk about that.

Russia stuttered, "U-Uh.. it was okay, I guess."

"Was America there?" Soviet replied coldly.

"H-Huh? Oh, yeah, he was..." Russia tried his hardest to avoid the subject, while Soviet Union got up to get something. After a little while, he came back with a folder in his hand and dropped it in front of Russia. Papers sprawled in all directions.

Russia raised a brow. "What's this?"

"The treaties we're abolishing," Soviet replied. His stone cold face made Russia think it wasn't a huge deal what he was asking.

"You need to sign it off."

However, after recognizing the documents, the smaller Russian gasped in disbelief. There's no way he could do this. "I-I can't, these are-" Russia panicked. He couldn't even finish his sentence.

"Is there a problem?"

"These were made during the Cold War. We made an agreement not to practice nuclear arms. One of the sole reasons World War 3 never happened, and you're asking me to betray them? Why now?!"

"Go ask your American friend why they're imposing sanctions on us nonstop and there's your answer."

Russia clenched his fists, knowing he had no choice in the matter and looked down at the floor. He didn't want to be seen crying. He already appeared weak enough as it is. "I.. I can't. You don't understand, I can't do it..."

"Do I need to remind you of our agreement? You don't ask questions, you only follow orders. I'm doing this for you."

"It's not fair! This will only make things worse!"

Slam.

Covering his mouth in whimpers, he watched as the red country approached him in anger.

"Please... Don't..." Russia covered his head and waited for something to happen, like a hit in the head or of the sorts. When he saw that Soviet was just standing there, hovering over him, he took the opportunity to suck it up and sign all the papers as fast as possible.

He ran to his room right after, feeling like a little kid who didn't get the toy they wanted for Christmas.

Now, America would hate him for sure, if he didn't already.

He jumped onto his bed, facing the wall. "I hate crying," he whispered. "I hate the past," he said. "I hate myself!" he yelled. An influx of emotions battled inside him as he desperately cried into his pillow.

After a long while, an idea sprung up, as Russia wiped away his tears and opened up the drawer to find a pen and paper.

He wrote a note and left it there before leaving the room through the window.

"I'm sorry, America. Please, forgive me."


	4. Confession

Midwinter was pretty brutal in Oldenburg, Germany, as the quiet town was freezing in cold weather. Despite that, this was the German country's getaway spot for the weekend, since it was pretty calm most of the time and far away from politic nonsense.

Shutting the window blinds, Germany swept around the place, making sure that not a speck of dirt was in sight. It was a usual activity for him, although his neighboring countries claim it was just his OCD or something.

A sudden knock at the door broke Germany out of his cleaning trance, as he stopped what he was doing to open the door.

He gaped when he saw Russia barely holding himself up against the doorframe. The unexpectedness of it contributed to his shock.

"H-Hey, Ger—" Russia collapsed on the ground before being able to say anything else.

Germany looked at his friend's condition and his expression paled. Judging by the dark circles under his eyes, he assumed the Russian was either sleep deprived and/or on some kind of drug—maybe even both. Panicked, he hauled the larger country inside.

Oddly enough, the German country had a hunch of what happened to his Russian friend. He hated the thought of it and despised the possibility of it happening, but somehow, he knew...

He looked down at Russia, his body lay still and unconscious. He sighed.

"You tried killing yourself, didn't you, idiot?"

...

With no leads to where Russia might be, America turned to the only place he could think of that was left—Russia's home. It's not like he hasn't thought of checking the place beforehand, it's just that he really didn't want to accidentally stumble upon USSR. However, there was no other choice now. He's checked everywhere else he could be.

The American country examined the odd, leather-bound door, which was very different from his own culture, and began to question if he should ring the doorbell or not. Something told him that he shouldn't.

"This is probably a bad idea," America said, tightening his grip on his research books.

"You're right. It probably is."

The American country slowly turned around, and of course, the one person he didn't want to see, was standing right behind him.

America sheepishly laughed as an excuse to leave, "Oh, this must be the wrong address... Oops. Well, I'll just be going now," America said taking a step to his right, initiating his leave.

Grabbing the back collar of his shirt, Soviet easily pulled the American back. "Куда ты спешишь? (Not so fast)." Cursing under his breath, America faced his former enemy.

"Do you know where Russia is?" Soviet asked, with a little more concern in his tone than America was expecting.

He tilted his head in reply, confused. "No. Why? Is he not here?"

The red country sighed, leaning against the concrete wall. He shook his head no. "I don't understand what that kid sees in you, American."

America kept quiet. What did he mean by that? Did Russia actually have feelings for him—no, that'd be ridiculous...

While the shorter country was inner monologuing to himself, out of nowhere, Soviet asked, "Are you two dating or something?"

Shocked, would be an understatement of what America felt at that moment, as he swiftly turned his attention towards the older male and flushed in a bright red hue.

"What!? Why would you ask something like that?" His own slurred speech made America realize what he was saying and corrected himself in a more "professional" manner, "Ehem. No, we're not."

The Soviet country gave him a condescending look. "Good. Stay away from him." Stepping forward, he rattled with his keys before unlocking the apartment door.

"Hey," America said, figuring he was about to leave.

"What?"

"It was you who caused his injury, wasn't it?" America clenched his fist in anger. He knew politics didn't allow him to do anything "irrational" but, man, if he was a regular person, he would've already at least tried to beat the crap out of him for hurting Russia.

"I don't see what that has anything to do with you."

"He's like your son. How could you!?"

"Tell me, America, have your parents ever hurt you? Were they doing it out of malice?"

The smaller country thought about it.

America never really had "formal" parents. The closest thing he's had to a parent was Great Britain. Thinking back, of course, America did remember quite a few times when Britain really pissed him off—times before he was even a country. Like, the ridiculous tea tax he imposed on him or being so overly protective of America's freedom.

However, he did those things because he felt like America was part of him—like family—even America understood that from a young age.

"I-It was different," argued America.

Soviet scoffed, "Was it?"

"It doesn't matter if it was or wasn't. Just know that I don't accept your actions, and I probably never will."

"Okay. I didn't ask you to." Soviet pulled out a small note from his jacket pocket. "Take this and leave. I found it on the kid's table this morning. I thought you'd want to see it," he explained.

With that, the red Russian left, leaving the American wide-eyed and trembling by the note in his hand. Only a few short sentences were scribbled on it, but it was enough to cause an uprising in America's thoughts and feelings.

America, if you ever get to read this, then know, that in the midst of our hate, I somehow fell in love with you. That is my confession for this Valentine's Day. I never want to hurt you again, which is why I have to make this our final goodbye. Thank you, for everything. — Russia

He hasn't felt this kind of feeling in centuries—the feeling like he's lost someone important to him—someone, who was oblivious to his love for them. This couldn't be happening.

America looked back at the note this time with a little more anger in mind and scrunched it up in his hand. The paper cuts felt oddly satisfying as if he was getting a small taste of the pain that Russia had to go through.

"Like hell, I'd let you leave me," America said with a forced smile. He's always been taught to smile in the face of hurt and sadness, but, damn, it was so much harder, so much harder to do it when somebody he loves is trying to kill himself.

"D-Damnit Russia..." his smile dropped and his hands went over his face, covering his newly formed tears. "Why!?"

...

Frantically, waking up from a nightmare, Russia glanced both ways to see he was in an unfamiliar bed. He held his hand up to his forehead, his head aching intensely, as he tried to desperately remember his previous actions. Nothing came up.

Everything felt a little hazy. He got up, immediately dizzy, and tripped up on the ground.

Hearing the commotion, Germany walked in with a bowl of soup in his hands. "I see you're finally awake." His eyes dragged to the floor, where Russia struggled to pick himself up.

"You should probably stay in bed."

Russia nodded, confused.

"You can explain everything later, for now, eat up. I'm glad you showed up here in time. I gave you some neutralizers to counteract those drugs effects. With the dosage you took, you sure weren't planning on waking up anytime soon." Germany tried to sound like it wasn't a big deal or anything, in hopes Russia would feel more comfortable talking to him, but internally, he fully understood the seriousness of the topic.

Russia ate the soup without saying a word.

"You honestly worry me," Germany said, hopelessly crossing his arms. "Is this your first suicide attempt? You know countries can't die that easily..." he said quietly, looking the other way.

Russia stayed silent. Germany could sense that something was wrong.

"Hey, are you feeling okay? Does anything hurt? Do you need anything?"

Russia looked worried but mostly confused. He finally spoke in a hoarse voice, "Sorry for asking such a weird question..."

Russia looked up at him with weary eyes and hesitated for a moment.

"—but who are you?"


	5. You're My Poison

The silence in the room almost felt eerie. It took the German country a solid minute to actually process Russia's reply. He hadn't even considered the possibility of neurological damage, far less something as severe as memory loss. He looked down to see that his hands were shaking and clenched them out of worry. "Please tell me that you're joking."

As much as Germany wanted this to all be some kind of prank, he somehow knew, deep down, that it wasn't. From the looks of it, Russia seemed sincere. His eyes said everything.

"I'm sorry," Russia apologized and shook his head, no. His expression saddened. He couldn't remember what it was, but he forgot something important to him-so many people who were important to him that he now couldn't remember.

Germany cursed and heard sudden, loud, persisting, knockings on the door. "That must be her," he said, facepalming himself.

"Who?" Russia blinked.

"Stay here." He gestured with his hand. "Don't worry, we'll figure something out."

Russia exhaled a long sigh while a loud conversation erupted in the room next to his. He leaned against the wall, wondering what was going on. For some reason, he trusted this fellow. He felt calm talking to him, even if he didn't know who he was.

Meanwhile, Germany gulped and opened the door, revealing Belarus and Ukraine standing at the entrance. Somehow, Belarus managed to get Germany to tell her that Russia was with him. He assumed Ukraine just tagged along with her.

"You know, this is a really bad time, you should come back a bit later-" Germany was about to close the door when Belarus stuck her foot out before he could.

"Open the fucking door." Her brow twitched and her patience was running short.

"Belarus, please be a little nicer," Ukraine pleaded.

"We don't have time for that shit, where is he?" She portrayed her impatience well and glared at Germany with her cold, emerald eyes.

Germany coughed and looked the other direction. "Russia's not really feeling well right now."

"I don't care." This time, she shoved her way through. She was the smallest one of the three, and with the shortest temper as well. Ukraine couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed for her sister.

The door to the room Russia was in suddenly burst open. Belarus was the first to walk and stomped towards her older brother in anger.

"Belarus, wait..." Germany paused, not knowing how to explain the situation.

Placing her hand on her hips, she turned around impatiently. "What is it? Can't you tell this is family business?"

With no other choice left, Germany hesitated for a moment, but came out and said it anyway. "Russia... lost his memory," Germany explained in a serious tone, "I thought you should know."

Ukraine stumbled back in disbelief. "T-That can't be..." she stuttered, covering her mouth in shock. Even Belarus looked baffled, turning her attention back to her brother. Russia looked at her for only a second. The pity look he gave her is what ticked her off to do what she was about to do next.

In a swift movement, Belarus slapped him across the face. Ukraine and Germany both stood, speechless, not saying a word. Russia didn't respond either and brought up his hand to his, now, reddening cheek. It felt deserving for some reason.

"Do you have any idea how much we missed you-how worried we were about you? You haven't talked to us in almost thirty years, damn it!" Ukraine wanted to step in and say something but she couldn't bring herself to. She swore she saw Belarus shed a tear and backed away. She knew her well enough to.  
"-and now all of a sudden you've decided to give up on life and not tell us anything!? Who are we to you anyways- some rag dolls to play with and then throw away?"

"I-I'm sorry."

Belarus wiped her tears and smiled. "I-Is it true, Russia?" Belarus has always been the one who was unable to express her emotions correctly. That's why she was almost laughing in her own grief. "Have you really lost your memory? Do you even know who we are anymore..?"

Russia stayed silent, bringing his knees up closer to his chest. She must have been someone important to me, he thought.

Belarus brought her hand up in the air, trembling in one place before Ukraine held her back from doing anything irrational. "That's enough, sister."

Belarus stormed to the other side of the room, facing away from everyone.

Germany sighed, "All we can do now is see what happens." Ukraine's head went down and she nodded hopelessly.

"I do remember one thing though..." Russia muttered softly, as everyone attention suddenly averted to him. "I remember feeling happy around someone I really liked. I think I was in love with them..."

"Can you tell us who this was?" Germany asked.

Russia tried to remember their face but it was beyond recognition in his memory. He shook his head no again. "I can't, I'm sorry."

...

The door to the living room jerked open. America walked in, grabbing the keys to his car.

Canada looked up from reading his book. "Um, is something wrong?" he asked.

"I'm going out for a drink."

Camada gave him a concerning look. "That's a bad idea and you know it." America was known for not being able to hold his liquor in. Other than beer, he really can't drink anything else without throwing it up moments later.

The Canadian was suddenly perplexed to hear soft crying from America's direction. A thud was followed with the sound of some books falling onto the ground. Canada got up.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

America turned towards the wall to hide his face. "Nothing..."

Bullshit, Canada thought and walked over to his older brother. He put his arm on his shoulder.

When America felt his touch, he asked him, "Canada... If there was someone you liked... and they confessed to you before they attempted suicide... what would you do?"

The Canadian looked speechless as he tried to think of a possible answer to that question. "America... That's an oddly specific question to ask," Canada said wide-eyed and confused.

His brother nodded. "I know... but I need to know—I need to know what to do," he pleaded in a desperate voice. It was so rare to see America this vulnerable. He turned towards Canada and actually cried into his chest. This was the first time he's done that in years—at least since the end of the second war.

"Hey, calm down, it'll be alright—"

America grabbed Canada's shoulders and looked up at him. "But it's not alright! He could be dead for all I know and it's my fault for not realizing it sooner..."

Canada bit his bottom lip. "Can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"Who is this person?"

America tensed up. "It's Russia," he answered shyly.

"Russia eh? I had a feeling," Canada replied.

"So, what do you think I should do?"

"Well," Canada pondered, "I doubt he actually died. We would've heard about it by now. Maybe he just needs some space." The suggestion made sense to the U.S., but he couldn't stop thinking about him. The whole thing was like poison to his brain—all he could think about was being with Russia.

"Maybe you're right. I just wish I knew sooner," America explained, fidgeting with his fingers, "So I could've told him..."

"—that I loved him back."


	6. Till I Forget About You

Russia's tragic memory loss soon became common to news to every country and nation alike—including America, who unfortunately took it the worst out of everyone who was informed of it.

The news of the event became much more popularized than Germany had initially expected, and so did the drama that circled around it. Of course, as you'd expect, the quicker the drama grew, the more questions arose over America's sudden grief and the relation of it to Russia's unfortunate circumstance.

Oddly enough, no one has seen or heard from America since the news was spread, some even began taking the theory seriously, and wondered what the relationship between the two of them actually was. A suggestion held the idea that they were in some sort of "relationship" before Russia's memory loss, which would explain why America was so stricken with grief afterward.

Word became rumor and rumor became an assumption, that eventually after Germany had blatantly uncovered that Russia did indeed admit to having a love interest in mind, turned into an almost-stated-fact; Russia and America were more than just close friends—they were lovers. 

Canada didn't even bother correcting them and, instead, focused on being the first to suggest a new idea that would be both economically efficient for the countries and, at the same time, would reiterate a positive mindset to this recent event.

During the next meeting, he would suggest the idea for them to ordain time slots where the U.S. would take the Russian country around, enlightening him about his history. In actuality, these would sort of count as dates. He figured this would be the ideal solution to bringing both countries back into action.

"America."

The country muffled a reluctant "What?" from underneath the covers. Even Canada could tell his voice sounded ruff and dry from not eating and drinking enough.

America's been laying in his bed for who knows how long, contemplating over every little thing that has occurred recently; the more he thought about what happened to Russia, the more he blamed himself for it, and more he did that, the less he wanted to do anything else. It was a neverending spiral of depression.

"Come on, you can't lay around in bed all day," Canada said, tugging at the end of the covers. America, even in his weakened state, pulled them back over his head without batting an eye. The Canadian sighed, "The meeting starts in less than an hour—"

Peeking over the blankets, America looked at Canada with the expression of defeat on his face. His eyes were puffy and of a pale red hue, probably from not getting enough sleep and/or crying excessively.

"Go without me," he replied in a hoarse voice.

Australia suddenly made his entrance known when he noticed his distant brothers conversing with one another from the hallway. "I've been trying to get him up for days, but he won't listen," Australia explained to Canada.

"You'll have to come this time," Canada said firmly.

"Why?"

"Because we'll be discussing Russia's condition."

Finally, something of interest caught America's attention. He pulled his blanket over his head again and thought about it for a moment. It felt almost like an obligation for America to help Russia any way he could.

"Fine," Canada heard him reply, "I'll go this time."

...

The stares from the other countries felt a tad bit intimidating, to say the least. America sunk down into his own chair, feeling smaller than he actually was. Obviously, there were still some groups like Turkey and Greece, who were too busy meddling in their own politics to pay any attention to the drama.

"Eh hello everyone," Canada announced to get everyone's attention.

America looked a little surprised to see Canada taking the lead. He wouldn't even show up to these meetings half of the time, much less converse with anyone other than maybe a few smaller countries, like Ukraine.

"I think we're all aware of what we're here to discuss over."

Everyone nodded and turned their heads to America, who raised a brow in confusion. "Why is everybody staring at me?"

Britain coughed and corrected his monocle before saying anything. "We find it a little odd and peculiar that you haven't been showing up to these meetings lately, America."

"Whatever," America silently mumbled to himself and rolled his eyes.

"Ahem," New Zealand caught everyone's attention. "So, are we going to waste time or get to the point already?"

"Right," Canada noted, "So, according to recent medical observations, our doctors have found that there might be a chance that Russia will get his memories back. They claim that the brain damage isn't too severe and could possibly heal itself up with time, which brings us to our next topic—" Canada looked at his older brother with sympathy and smiled. "America, could you show Russia around his country and teach him his history?"

Looking a little shocked, America stuttered, "S-Sure, I guess I can," he paused, evaluating the idea, "but can't his father do that?"

New Zealand stepped in again. "We need an official country signed off to do this."

"Oh, okay. Yeah, I can do it, that's fine."

A sudden hit on the table left everyone shook. Everyone looked towards Japan's direction. "Wait! Why does America-senpai have to do it?"

"We've talked over this, Japan," New Zealand answered in a careless tone.

"I know, but I can't just accept this! You're all just trying to take America-senpai away from me!"

"What?" America looked at her, confused.

Japan explained, "They're doing this for you to go on dates with Russia so you wouldn't be so depressed and start showing up to these つまらない (boring) meetings again."

"What?" America repeated, but a little harsher this time. The countries gathered at the table either glared at the Japanese country or had the look of guilt sprawled across their face.

"You understand, right? You must let somebody else do it!" Japan cried out.

America sighed, not really caring anymore, and shook his head slowly. "No... I think I'll do it," he said quietly.

The disappointment in her eyes was as clear as day, as she pouted to herself in silence. "So you do like him then—like-like him?"

"It's not like that..." America looked down. He really did feel a certain affection towards Russia, but he couldn't explain what it was. America's never really had any real formal crushes before. He didn't even realize he was gay until the twenty-first century. "I just want to help. I feel like I owe it to him. Please understand, Japan." Her eyes watered but she hesitantly nodded.

"Then, it's settled."

...

America's refused to see Russia since the news got out, but now it was finally time to face him. Russia was still staying with Germany since he was the only country the Russian was sort of familiar with.

America quietly knocked on the door before turning it open. His breath pace picked up, as he contemplated over his nervousness overseeing Russia in this state. America peeked inside.

Russia was reading a book and looked up to see America. His expression looked more confused as he examined the unfamiliar country.

"I-I-uh-sorry, for just bursting in like this," America apologized.

"It's fine. I wasn't doing much anyway."

"I just came here to... kind of talk over what you're going through." Russia nodded, closing the book he was reading. America noticed the familiar cover of it. It was one of the books he himself picked up at the library. Russia was reading his own history.

America stood about five feet away from Russia and began to tense up. "I'm sorry, am I too close?"

Russia's hindrance was poorly hidden. He had no idea why this country was acting this way. "If anything, you're kind of far away," Russia commented, examining America's nervous tension as he stood in one place, "Are you okay?"

America tried to nod with certainty, but his feelings would betray him. He was so scared of hurting Russia again, he'd decided to keep his distance. "I think I'll stay here," he replied back.

Russia shrugged. "Alright, suit yourself then."

"So... How much do you exactly know about yourself?"

Russia brought up his hand to his chin, pondering on the question. "Not much, actually. Germany told me that my name is Russia and that it's usually cold where I live. He gave me some books to cover the basics of my history. That's about it." Russia noted America's saddening expression and asked, "So, what about you? Who are you?"

Man, did those words hurt. It'd be false to say America wasn't expecting that kind of ignorance from him, but it did hurt nonetheless to hear those words said by the same person who almost killed himself over the American. "I-I'm The United States of America," he introduced himself.

Russia's face hardened. "Oh, I read about you."

"You did, huh?" America tried to sound cheery, fearing for the worst, "I mean, books don't accurately represent me that well," he explained sheepishly, "Especially, in your language."

Russia didn't get the humor. "Почему? (Why) Is there something wrong with my language?"

"No, no," America waved his hands defensively. "I'm just saying we have different cultures and propaganda is a thing, ya know?"

Russia looked the other way and then back at him. "Okay," he replied. No emotion was heard from his tone, and America began to understand that this job might be more difficult than he had first planned it to be.

Suddenly, there it was again. The cold. However, this time, it didn't seem to affect Russia at all. This time, it was America who began to feel the hardening of the top of his fingers as they were turning into a light blue shade. He clutched them tightly and stepped a few feet back until he reached the back of the wall. Just what in the world was going on? It's like the more he fell in love with him, the worse it would get. He wondered if Russia went through the same feeling beforehand.

"I wanted to tell you.. that I was assigned to teach you over your history in hopes you'll gain your memories back," America explained. Russia didn't look amused.

"Why you?"

"Why not? I'm not your enemy Russia... My government might say so otherwise but—"

"Don't be ridiculous," Russia interrupted, "Our governments are sole reflections of who were are. And if our governments say that we're enemies, then so are we."

America clenched his fist. The pain of love was a new thing he was experiencing, and he only now began realizing how painful it truly is. "Please, don't say that..."

Russia scoffed, "In fact, if I'd had to guess, I'd say you're doing this on purpose." America widened his eyes, trembling, trying his hardest not to break down in front of him. "Maybe you were the one who caused me to lose my memories in the first place." Another rip in his heart made America want to disappear—to run and hide in his room. But crying wasn't going to solve anything.

He wanted to decline. He desperately wanted to say that it wasn't his fault, to reject the possibility that if it weren't for him, this wouldn't have happened. But... in a way, he felt solely responsible for it... Maybe if he wasn't so crude all the time towards the Russian, this wouldn't have happened. Maybe if he bothered to pay some attention to Russia's mental state of mind, he wouldn't have tried to kill himself. Maybe if he had confessed his own crush instead denying it all the god damn time, it wouldn't have been too late to save him.

All these thoughts... All these feelings... They were too much. They kept reiterating themselves without reconciliation to the actual truth in America's head, driving him crazy—no, not just crazy, but much worse... crazy in love.

"I'll abide by you teaching me, but do know that I have my eyes on you, capitalist," Russia said in a dangerous tone, "Don't try anything funny."

Before looking up from the ground, America closed his eyes to hide his tears and smiled brightly. His emotions did betray him, after all. He felt a spring of joy leaping in his heart as he held on tightly to the opportunity to change his mistake. He was blessed with the option of being able to still save him, which was all that mattered to him, and he was so grateful—so damn grateful for it.

"You can count on me. I won't fail you again, I-I promise..."


	7. My Message

At first, I thought it'd be kind of weird to show up all dressed up as if it were an actual date. I didn't want to make it seem like I was trying too hard, but then, I also didn't want to look like I didn't care about seeing him either, because I do—like, I really do, and I definitely want him to know that.

In the end, however, I just decided to stick with my usual attire.

As much as my consciousness wanted to believe that we were just a normal couple seeing each other on a regular basis, I had to remember what the true purpose of this entire facade was, as well as all of my mistakes that led up to this point. I understood that he was suffering because of me—that this wasn't a date, but a healing process, for the both of us, despite what my mind I wanted to believe.

I've also, of course, considered on just flat out giving the lovely note that Russia had written to me in hopes he would remember at least something positive about me, but something told me that I shouldn't—something told me that if I were going to show him the letter, he would despite my country even more than he already does, and then proceed that ignorance with comments, like—"You lie to me all the time, so why should I believe you now?"

I mean, the worst part of it is that I wouldn't blame him for asking me that.

I have been lying—not only to myself, but to him as well, and every time I remember that fact, the aching feeling of pain and guilt pressures my heart in a way that I could never forgive myself for; I felt like a thief who just stole someone's entire identify and personality away and a split second, and so I keep asking myself then, if I was the one who hurt Russia, then why am I in so much pain because of it?

I couldn't help the feeling of loneliness creep up on me from just hearing his name echo in my mind. For some reason, I longed to see him every minute that I was awake and conscious; I was intoxicated with a deep, mesmerizing love for him that would not go away no matter how hard I tried not to think about him. It didn't matter if he hated me or not right now, I just wanted to see him so damn badly, it hurt me both mentally and physically just to think about him. The feeling was ecstatic, and the pain of it sure wasn't going to go away so easily.

To distract myself from my own destructive thoughts, I looked at the time.

It was twenty-nine past eight in the morning. I smiled and in excitement, waited till the arrow hit exactly eight thirty, and then practically ran out the door to see him. He asked me not to come before then, which is why I had to wait.

Butterflies skipped inside of me just thinking about us spending the entire day in St. Petersburg today. It was going to be the first city I would start out with. I can't believe I actually bothered to read about his history since I've always been known to not care or listen in world geography class. For him though, I'm willing to learn anything and everything as long as that meant I could be with him.

God, what am I saying?

I'm acting like a teenage girl would with her first crush. Well, it would make sense, since this is the first time I have ever had a real crush before. Oh well, whatever. I'd rather act like a teenage girl than the egotistical douchebag I was before.

I stopped in front of his door.

We got separate hotel rooms. I insisted on saving money, but Russia argued that—and I quote, "I don't want you backstabbing me in my sleep."

How sweet of him, right? Well, whatever. It's not like I could blame him for acting so cold towards me anyway.

It took a minute, but Russia finally came out only to scan me from head to toe and give me the bitchiest look I've ever seen. "You know that's it's negative fifteen degrees outside, right?"

"Negative degrees?" For some reason that didn't click in my mind. How can degrees' be negative?

As if he read my mind, Russia mumbled irritably, "In Celsius, you idiot."

With a quick Google search, I converted Celsius to Fahrenheit. "Six degrees, huh?" I haven't seen single digits in a temperature measurement since I went up to Canada for a meeting a while back. "Well, whatever, I'll be fine. I didn't pack anything with me anyway," I explained, assuring him it's alright. Russia didn't seem to comply with my answer though.

"Блять," he cursed, rolling his eyes at me, and went back to his room.

I called out for him, "Hey!" I didn't think he'd care what I was wearing, to be honest. A few minutes passed, and he came back with a coat.

"Put this on," he demanded, stretching his arm out to give it to me.

I frowned and crossed my arms. "I told you, I'm fine."

He threw it at me, as I stumbled back to catch it. "What's the point in having a tour guide if he freezes to death halfway through it because of his own sheer stupidity?"

I huffed and put it on. The length of it covered all the way down to my knees. I blushed out of embarrassment, remembering much shorter than him I was. He didn't seem to care though and locked the door behind him.

It felt a little bit awkward like this, sure, but at least he wasn't being overly rude or anything.

As soon as we went outside, I cursed under my stagnant breaths. The icy winds made it feel like we were in a tundra, or of the sorts. I mean, sure, it got cold up north in Alaska, especially, but I don't really travel up there that often to consider it the norm.

I must have looked incredibly stupid because Russia even chuckled at my facial expression. I noticed him and smiled back; it made so happy to know he was still capable of laughing in my presence, even if he was laughing at me.

He turned away quickly when he saw my stupid grin and guided me towards the subway—wait, no. I think he said metro, but I'm pretty sure it's the same thing, honestly. I did my best not to get too close to him in the process, and then quickly realized how difficult that was when there were so many people around us.

I've also tried to convince him that I knew how to guide myself through one of his subways, but no—blah blah blah I was being ignorant aparentally 'cause it was way more complicated than what I was used to at home.

As we went down the escalator, he also made me put the hood over my head to hide my "Americanness", saying it as if it was the most disgusting thing on the planet. Gee, thanks. If I didn't like you so much, I might've just slapped you for saying that, is what I would've said if I was brave enough to. Instead, I just pouted to myself in silence.

Three stops in, and we finally made it to the main courtyard. He then turned to me for further directions, but I guess I just blanked out and stared at him.

He waved his hand in front of me to get my attention. "Hello? Where are we headed?"

My stomach growled, and I nervously laughed.

He rolled his eyes at me. "You didn't eat breakfast?" he asked.

I tapped my fingers slowly together. "I uh... They don't take dollars," I explained. For some reason, I keep forgetting that dollars aren't exactly "universal" and that other currencies exist other than mine.

He looked at me utterly dumbfounded. Russia was about to say something, but then he let his shoulders down, sighing, instead.

"Come on. Let's find someplace to eat," he said in a groaning voice. Despite his irritated look, I jumped up and down in excitement.

As I was doing so, in a split moment, I accidentally tripped up on the slippery ground.

Russia caught me before I fell and then pushed me away just as fast. However, before he did, I was able to catch a glimpse of a small blush he was clearly trying to hide. He turned away, walking towards the direction of a nearby cafe.

That moment left me an in a shocking wave of warmth and love. I stood in one place for a second before calling out to him and catching up.

"You're clumsy," he said to me, and I laughed again in response. I kept wondering to myself why Russia would actually try to help me out in the first place. After all, he made it quite clear what his opinion of me was.

I wrapped my arms around myself as my entire back began aching in pain. Russia noticed it as well and stopped in his tracks. He actually looked concerned for me and asked, "Is something wrong?"

"No, no, of course not. Um, you get a table, I'll be right back." I quickly shuffled towards the nearest bathroom, making sure no one followed me in the process.

Thankfully, no one was in there. I stood in front of the mirror and lifted my shirt up to see that my lower back was frozen in a baby blue shade. Well, fuck, I thought to myself, whatever, it shouldn't be too damaging. I just have to watch myself next time.

I pulled my shirt back down and went back to find the small table Russia was sitting at. He was already drinking hot tea and I joined him to see a diet Coke placed on my side of the table.

Aw, how cute. He actually thought about what I liked.

Damn it. Get yourself together.

I patted my cheeks in frustration and took out of my backpack, a paper map. I flattened it out onto the table.

Intrigued, Russia observed it with interest.

"Alright, well, for the most part, your country had monarchs up until pretty much your dad's generation." I scanned the map again. "There's this small museum where they have some artifacts from the revolution, so maybe we should go there first," I suggested.

Russia looked content with the plan at first, until I saw him twitch a brow in frustration and then lean on his hand, sighing.

"Why?" he muttered to himself.

"Why what?"

"Why are you doing this?" he asked me more harshly. He looked a little worried and concerned as well. It was almost as if he could read my feelings for him.

"Because I want to help you..."

"Bullshit, he cursed. He looked me dead in the eye and stated, "Everything you say is a lie. I don't know what to believe anymore."

The odd thing is, I completely understood him. I don't know what I would've done myself if I was in his situation. It looked like he was taking it pretty well too, unlike me right now. "Russia, listen to me. We will get your memories back no matter what. I need you to trust me. I would do anything... for... you." I realized what I was saying, and stopped midsentence.

He glanced at me, silently, without saying a thing. His facial expression looked as shockingly surprised as mine was. My heart pumped a hundred beats per minute, and it felt as if any moment it would just pop out of my chest. I don't know how much longer I could keep up this act.

He suddenly leaned closer to me and I froze still in one place. My cheeks were of a rosy pink shade, and when I bothered to notice, so were Russia's. I couldn't tell if he was toying with me or not right now.

"Repeat what you just said," he taunted me with a sneaky grin.

"We will get your memories back?" I guessed.

"No, the other part."

I shifted my head down, eyeing my fidgeting hands. I could barely say the words, but with a few hesitant squeaks, the words came out themselves. "I'll... do anything for you?"

Satisfied, Russia raised a brow in amusement. "Really?" He repeated what I said in a little more of a bitterly sweet tone, "You would do anything for me?"

"Well, yeah, if it's reasonable and in my power..."

Russia looked around aimlessly, before coming even closer to me. I felt the frostbite on my burning face as I gulped hesitantly.

"Would you kiss me then?" he asked me.

My thoughts couldn't process correctly. "E-Excuse me?" I asked him, utterly confused. Russia, on the other hand, looked as if he was on the brink of laughing.

"It's reasonable, isn't it?" he chuckled.

"I-I guess it is, but if it uh... but I don't know if..." A few silent moments was all it took for Russia to shrug and give the act up.

"I was just kidding 'Meri," he laughed. I blinked, in both embarrassment and anger. Also, a bit surprised that he used my nickname. "The look on your face though."

Although I felt flustered, I was somewhat grateful that it was only a joke. Of course, I still really really felt like punching Russia in the face right now for embarrassing me, and I would, if it weren't for his condition, but I knew I had to keep myself together. "I hate you sometimes, you know that?"

Russia nodded, convinced that it wouldn't be the same otherwise. "No, but really, thanks, America. It's kind of weird having you do this for me," he said in a more sheepish tone this time.

I turned away, crossing my arms. "I meant it, by the way."

"What?"

My eyes darted between him and the wall to my right. "What I said... I wasn't lying about that," I told him with the hint of sympathy enlaced in my eye. I could tell he noticed it as well.

Russia puffed his cheeks out, almost giggling. "You think I need you to take care of me? That's cute."

"You don't have to pretend like you don't need the help. I know you well enough to know that you like to hide shit from everyone," I said protectively. He thought about it and looked a little surprised for a moment. It was as if a flaming spark suddenly awaked inside of him.

He covered up his obvious blush, muttering to himself in silence, "There's no way that person's you..."

"What?"

"Nevermind."

"Come on. If we keep sitting around here, we'll never get to look at anything," he told me. I nodded, finishing my Coke, and then we hurried to our first destination.

I took him to the Hermitage museum. However, I got tired within an hour of walking and we even took several breaks between each hour of looking around at paintings and stuff. I tried to go along with his history, but I'm not sure if Russia was completely understanding me or not.

We then stopped at a cafe too, but none of them served any fast food. All they served were just a bunch of soups and salads. I wondered to myself how people stayed alive here.

Apparently, I had fallen asleep out of exhaustion, and Russia had carried me all the way back to my room. I didn't feel a thing, and only now realized that the cold didn't affect me while I was unconscious.

I sat up in my bed and looked out the window, sighing. It was already night time and it was lightly snowing outside as well.

It was a very peaceful sight, actually.

Then, something caught my interest. There was someone else standing outside near the bus stop.

With a closer look, I could that that it was Russia, and it looked like he was about to leave to go somewhere. I observed for a moment before dashing outside myself.

I don't know why, but it urged me to go follow him.


	8. My Reply

I wondered for the longest time at the nearest bus station if it was a good idea or not for me to leave America behind on his own. He should be asleep right now anyway, so the worry over him finding out where I was going was probably unnecessary. At least, that's what I wanted to believe.

I looked up, as the cold air nipped at my skin, but felt so oddly normal to me that I barely even noticed it. Glancing at my phone, I saw that it was almost 22:00. The train station shouldn't be far from here if I remember correctly, and if I board it now, I might have enough time to make a full round trip before it's morning.

I nodded to myself and ran there as fast as I could, my feet crunching underneath the sound of the melting snow. While pacing myself, I contemplated over everything that had happened today. I hated to even consider that I actually enjoyed the day with America, much less accept the fact that talking with him was actually quite fun and amusing, despite his occasional American idiosyncrasies.

I haven't told him yet, but I've actually remembered quite a lot from what I could tell. Most of what I remember, however, was from decades ago and from my early childhood; I remember a lot about my siblings and my father, especially. More recent history, however, projected to me as more of a blur to my mind—events which felt like only mere dreams that may or may not have occurred in reality. 

America wouldn't understand my need to see my family right now. He made his objection to it quite clear today after all. But they felt like the only part of me that I had left—the only piece of the puzzle to my identity I had to go off of. I needed to go see my family because, without them, I feel more like an empty shell, rather than a nation. America wouldn't understand that, and oddly enough though, I respected that. Ha, I must've gone crazy, right dad? I smiled for a moment before my expression dimmed to a solemn shadow when the realization finally hit me.

I think I get it now.

America might not feel or understand me because everyone he's ever loved or been connected to haven't disappeared from his life yet.

I've always hated the idea of loving others. I suppose I picked it up from my father when I was younger. He convinced me that it was a waste of time, that everyone we love will eventually die alone anyways. But for me, it was because it caused so much internal pain to love someone else.

It's not like I wouldn't have gone out to see my father, even if America did know about it, but the thought of us arguing again just tired me out, so I decided that going out while he was asleep was the better option. I suppose that's strange for me to think since we've always fought when we were younger, and I'd be a lier if I said that I didn't semi-enjoy our pointless bickering back then.

Now that I think about it, I don't think he's actually changed much since then. I mean, sure, he might be much stronger as a nation and all, but at least I didn't carelessly pass out in the evening as if I was a small child.

About twenty minutes passed before I hopped onto my first train. There was still a hefty amount of people occupying the train station, and after looking around a bit, I noticed that most of the occupants were made up of either old people or those who looked completely drunk off of their feet. I sighed, moving around them carefully and held on tightly to the hand railing. I also pulled my scarf up to cover my face, in case anyone was looking in my general direction.

The contrasting silence of the trip to the busy day I had today made it seem quite peaceful actually. I thought over everything I remembered about my father before I would go see him. Questions arose in my head to ask, as the echoing of the train movements filled my eardrums.

It was almost midnight when I arrived, a quite quickly trip actually, I suppose, but from the looks of it, I knew I wouldn't be able to go back until morning. I only hoped America wouldn't go looking for me when he finally realizes that I'm gone.

A sudden ache in the head caught my attention. My head hurt so badly from trying to remember and think so much all at once. Still-images of mostly my father came to my head, as I tried to shake them out of my head.

Taking in a deep breath, and questioning the much warmer air in this city, I knocked on the apartment door with hesitant confidence. I had contemplations over visiting him, still, but I knew I had to do this. Ukraine and Belarus were still probably still upset with me and I didn't remember my other siblings well enough at the moment to go visit them.

Before I could realize what was going on, I felt a tight hug embrace me. My confusion was the first thing I could comprehend, as my eyes darted up to meet my father's. You could say that I was a bit surprised at the unusual gesture. I know my memory was still hazy, but I couldn't remember a single time my father would actually be so outwardly kind to me. If any kindness at all was hindered, it was always through his actions, or something of the sort, I think?

He looked at me with so much sorrow in his eyes but with a hint of pride as well? I still felt confused and awkward, so I tried to smile like America probably would in this situation. "П-Привет папа." (H-Hello dad) He frowned at me, so I assumed I looked like an idiot to him and stopped smiling.

He led me inside to the dining table. It looked like he also wanted to see me which was pleasantly surprising to me. He then asked me, "Как твой день прошол с Америкой?" (How was your day with America today?) and I stuttered in thought.

I didn't think he would actually know about that or even be so okay with it either. I must've made my confusion pretty evident because even he looked concerned. "Нормально все было. Мы по ермитажу даже гуляли. (It was okay. We went to a museum today) He tried to teach me some history too but all I heard was 'some dudes fought here and there and then this super cool dude came in...' basically, just a bunch of nonsense," I huffed in annoyance.

"He tried though, right?"

Widening my eyes, I chuckled to myself a little. "Y-Yeah. I guess he did. Overall, it was pretty fun actually when he was trying to teach me about our family—" I lost myself in thought over how cute he was trying his best to explain everything to me, but bounced back into reality quite quickly. "Uh, sorry—"

"I'm glad that it was," he replied to me with a rare ounce of concern I don't ever remember witnessing. "He should know about our family at least a little bit."

"H-Huh? You're okay with this? —and wait, what do you mean?"

"If it makes you feel better," he commented, "Well, America used to visit your grandfather a lot back in the day, so I would assume he should know at least a little bit?"

"I suppose, but his memory seems to be worse than mine," I chuckled nervously.

This was weird—like, completely out of the norm. I was talking to my father about America and he was acting so calm about it and was even encouraging it. I noticed, looking up, that he looked saddened by what I had just said though for some reason and I even tensed a little in regret, unsure why.

"I have to ask you something, son."

It was that tone again. Every time he'd use it, it was usually something really serious. "Y-Yeah?" I asked.

"I need you to answer me completely honestly alright? It's really important that you do."

I nodded. "Alright, dad..." I hesitated for a moment, "What is it?"

He took a deep breath before asking, "Ты правда в люблем с Америкой?" (Are you really in love with America?) My self-consciousness abandoned me, and I felt myself nervously shaking in one place out of anxiety.

"W-What?..." I was barely able to mutter out and looked straight at him with a very noticeable blush painted on my face.

Squinting, he threw his head back out of clear irritation. "Why do you both have that same stupid expression every time I ask you this question?" he grunted in annoyance, "Kids these days..."

I tilted my head. "Wait, what do you mean both of you? You don't mean..." I probably looked like a deer in headlights, because sympathy was the next thing I saw in my father's eyes. Now, I felt even more naive about everything.

So, it was true then...?

America was the person I used to love? —and he knew about it all along? No, how can that be? Why would I ever do something like that for someone like him? But more importantly, why would he love someone as broken as me?

"Ну?" (Well?) my father called to get my attention. I honestly had no clue how to answer. My feelings betrayed me and I felt so lost within myself. I wonder... Did America ever actually like me back? That idiot was probably just joking about everything he said.

"I... I don't know," I muttered a reply, twisting my shirt with my fingers. "Even if I was, how are you so okay with it? Aren't you like... homophobic or something?"

My father relaxed his gaze, and dropped his shoulders, sighing, "I'd be a hypocrite if I judged the two of you," he said hesitantly, but sternly, "That's all I'm going to say."

I wondered what he meant by that. There's no way he used to like someone himself. The thought of that was disturbing to even consider.

"But haven't you noticed anything strange with the two of you together?" he asked me.

"Actually, now that you mention it..." I paused, reliving the moments I experienced today. "There is this strange cold feeling I get around him. I think America knows it too and is just not telling me about it."

"I feared something like that would happen."

"What? Do you know anything about this?"

"I know that with that going on, the two of you will never be able to be together, Russia," he said, his voice getting looser. I could tell he was going to tell me something important if I ask him about it.

"Then, how do we get rid of it?"

He leaned next to me and whispered some words into my ear that almost made me jump back.

"T-There's no way..."

"That's the only way it'll ever stop and I promise you, it'll only get worse as time goes on if it's not done."

"M-Maybe we can live with the shivers. It's not too bad, right?" I nervously laughed to myself. Worry picked at me faster than I thought imaginable.

"Don't be so foolish, Россия," he said in a strong voice, "It's either that or an official document separating the two of you." He would go as far as to put a restraining order on us?

"How do you expect me to be okay with myself if I let it happen!?"

"I don't," he said, sighing, and looked at me dead in the eye. "—but I need you to listen to me," he paused, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry for being a bit tough on you at times. It worked on me when I was young but I was going way too far with you and I acknowledge that."

"That doesn't mean anything to me anymore!" I replied, trying to hold back the tremble in my voice.

"My father once told me that change was good in our country, but I was so foolishly blinded by power that all I thought was important was to become stronger. In reality, I feared to end up like him in the future, and that you would too because of me."

"Why are you telling me this? I-I won't let it happen."

"You're your own new nation now, and it's time for me to leave like I should've done a long while back—"

"N-No. I need you with me, dad. I'll never see America again if I have to... just don't leave me. I forgive you, just p-please..." My tears finally couldn't hold back anymore, and I wiped them, as they ran down my flushed cheeks with my right arm.

Through my sobbing, my dad didn't say much for the first time. He'd usually be so angry at me for acting so weak. "You understand what you're saying right, you idiot?"

"I-I just... "

"Don't be stupid," he barked at me, "I've seen you grow up and you're well enough ready to lead the country on your own." He then gave me a sarcastic smile through my tears even though I could tell he was anything but happy on the inside. "Take my advice and don't be stuck on the past to avoid a better future, son."

I hit the table as hard as I could with my fist and burst out the door in tears to hide them as well as I could, mostly just from myself. I ran as fast as my feet could take me. I didn't care where I was headed. I didn't care that I was tripping every few steps, or that my skin froze the fresh tears I wept. I just wanted to be as far away from everything as possible.


	9. Our Last Moments

"Um, can I?"

America has been waiting outside in the cold, watching the entire scene between Russia and his father unfold before his eyes. Something urged him to stay back from running after Russia when he suddenly took off like that. He definitely didn't look like he wanted to be confronted, so America peeked in to maybe ask his father about what had happened instead.

"Yes, just close the door behind you," USSR solemnly sighed.

With the click of the sound, America glanced around the apartment. "Hasn't changed much I see," he observed.

"No, it hasn't."

The room decor was mostly made up of old posters and newspapers from the past, some of which America still remembered quite well. It was strange to see everything still here, however. After the breakaway in 1991, Russia moved away from this apartment but then claimed it later, so it was kinda surprising for him to see it still uphold its original design.

America bit his bottom lip. His tongue wouldn't allow him to say much. Even from just observation, he could tell that whatever news his father had told Russia weren't pleasant ones to hear.

"Can I ask?"

USSR sighed again, "It doesn't concern you—"

America argued back, "It does concern me, and if you think I'm blind as to not see that then you're wrong." He trembled a little in grief. Seeing someone he loved so much in so much constant mental pain felt like such a huge burden on him. It weighed on America's heart every second he witnessed it. He just wanted it all to end already.

The USSR raised a brow, not in a state of confusion, but almost like he was surprised to receive that response from him. America noticed Soviet's gaze then relax, and as if he could read his mind, and it looked almost as if his eyes spoke for him, 'It's going to be all over really soon.'

It could've just been his imagination though.

"It's me," Soviet said quietly.

America relaxed his stance, a habit he adapted from fighting with him for so long. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

Unraveling one of his bandaged arms, USSR showed him a long-kept secret. He looked down at his fragmented skin with a smile on his face like he's been waiting for this to finally happen. "It's been too long to hide this anymore," he explained.

America interchanged between multiple facial expressions while looking at his former enemy's flesh fragments in the midst of breaking apart. He should be feeling a sense of victory of some sort, as his government said he should be, but he couldn't help that a different emotion overtook his mind instead—one of sorrow, not pride.

Maybe it was because he knew now why Russia was so upset when he suddenly ran out, or maybe it was all those long-gone forgotten memories he used to cherish. Good person or not, USSR did raise his son whom America loved dearly, after all. Sure, he's hated him for a lot in the past for what he's done or represented, but he never wished death upon him as a person.

"I'm letting it happen finally, but I don't think Russia took it lightly," USSR said, breaking the silence, and glanced towards the other side of him. America's eyes followed his, where a small framed picture barely stood up on its unstable leg; it was a picture of their whole family—all sixteen of them, in fact. USSR sarcastically laughed at the sight of it, "I bet it's a party for you though, huh?"

Conflicted with his emotions, but still strong with his belief, America said, "You let this happen to yourself, dude, don't forget that."

"I'm not a fool as to not realize that, America. Thank you."

"Why now though? If you could hold it in a little longer, maybe you should," America suggested, his mind racing at the thought of what Russia's reaction would be after this.

"He needs me gone," the red former country said, his eyes darting up to the ceiling. "I've realized that he'll never grow up if he doesn't start making his own decisions."

"You had a lot more potential than this."

"I don't need your pity kid, I've lived enough," Soviet said as he got up off the couch. "Just take care of my son and don't do anything stupid."

He about to go into his room to await his death before America stopped him, "Wait!" Irritancy in his glare, USSR stopped and whipped his head around. America stuttered, "U-Uh..."

"What?"

"When we were kids," he started to say, nervously, knowing this might be the last time he'd be able to tell him this. "I've wanted to tell you this a long time ago, but now that you're..." What? dying? What was he supposed to say? The truth just didn't want to come out.

"I never believed that it was your fault."

USSR smiled to his surprise. "You're a hundred years late to the party."

"I know. I just had to say it eventually," America explained, a little shocked of how quickly Soviet knew exactly what he was talking about. Maybe he already knew even back then. America wasn't exactly the greatest at keeping his feelings suppressed.

"But you haven't forgotten, I'm surprised."

America chuckled, "No, of course, I haven't. God forbid how long dad made me babysit you for," he stopped to think about what he just said and cringed a little, "—which sounds really weird now that I say it."

"It does."

With a haughty expression, America giggled, "You were such a brat."

"You were an annoying little kid yourself, Mr. I'm Perfect," USSR responded in a salty tone.

"Hey, I did was my job, and you kept running away from the castle," America explained, teasing him lightheartedly, "Even I was never that dumb dude."

"I had my reasons for that."

"Yeah don't remind me," America laughed, crossing his arms, "You and that Nazi bastard sure had an "interesting" relationship."

Raising his brows in an unamused surprise, USSR said strictly, "What we had was not a relationship. I don't ever want that kind of connection between you and my son, you hear?"

America flung his hands in the air in defeat. "Yes, I know, I know," he chuckled, "Just out of curiosity though," he paused, nearing him with a smug look on his face. "What was he to you?"

"A traitor."

"Oh," America sighed like he was disappointed with that response. He honestly expected something more, especially with what he remembered from the past.

"—then he became my bitch."

Face flushing red, and embarrassing hindering at his emotions, all kinds of dirty thoughts came to America's mind. He tried not to think about it too much but he couldn't bring himself to respond either.

Soviet chuckled in amusement, "I'm just kidding. He was our enemy, you know this."

"The one time when we were fighting on the same side, huh?" America joked.

"Hm, I suppose so."

A moment passed in silence. Actually, from what America could remember, their relationship wasn't too bad before they started racing each other to space. All those dumb competitions really led to a lot of hate now that he thought about it.

"Your left arm is already gone," America observed. USSR looked down and nodded.

"It's happening pretty fast, I know."

"Should I go find him?" America nervously asked, questioning silently to himself where Russia might be right now.

"No, don't," Soviet responded with certainty, "I don't want his last memory of me to be like this."

"He'll hate you for this, you know."

"That's fine. He needs to hate me. I've done a lot of wrongdoings in my lifetime not to be hated," USSR explained, regret evident in his tone.

A bright memory suddenly reminded America of something. "Hey, do you remember the early thirties?" he asked, sounding too enthusiastic for the current situation.

Laughing a little once he remembered, Soviet asked, "Oh, when you snuck over almost every night to drink? Yes, I remember that. You were quite a desperate one," USSR chuckled with a sweet recollection to that memory. Despite suffering from hunger and famine at the same time as well, America made it quite an interesting time period to go through. He wasn't exactly in a great situation himself at the time either, so in a way, they connected a lot over their drinks together.

"Oh, whatever. No, I wasn't. It was during the prohibition," he argued in defense. USSR rolled his eyes with a smile. Remembering all of this made America look down with a melancholy sigh, "That was a long time ago, wasn't it?"

USSR nodded. "Yes, it was. You never paid me back for all those drinks either," he commented.

"I didn't have the money and I'm 23 trillion dollars in debt. What's your point?"

"Sounds rough," USSR said with a teasing smile on his face, "Honestly, I'd be happy to be dying if I was in your situation."

"Oh whatever, I pay off every year perfectly fine," America huffed.

"And increase your debt margin? Yeah, that sounds like a great solution." America frowned in annoyance.

"Well I'm not dying so I must be doing something right," he said in defense, but mostly just as a sarcastic joke.

"I forget how sweet you can be," USSR responded with the same amount of sarcasm in his voice. His attitude shifted when he thought about his eldest son. "So, tell me, why this sudden love for my son?" he asked. "I thought you two used to argue over everything." He mostly remembered the late nineties when their relationship wasn't exactly the "friendliest" yet.

"I fell in love when I realized that it was possible for me to love him," America answered shyly, "I know that doesn't make much sense."

"No, I think I understand."

America widened his eyes. "You do?"

"You thought it wasn't possible for you two to be together because of our past?"

"Yeah, something like that," America said nodding his head.

"Interesting," USSR said as if he was remembering something himself. America raised a brow.

"What?"

"Nothing." Changing the topic, Soviet asked, "So, who confessed first?" America blushed, not knowing how to feel about discussing his relationship with Russia to his father.

"Russia did," he mumbled.

USSR rolled his eyes, not surprised at all. "Of course he did," he said in an amused laugh, "He's just like his father."

"What?"

"What."

"What?"

"I need vodka," he said, getting up and stumbling into the kitchen with what limbs he had left. Opening a bottle of vodka, he started gulping it down like it was nothing. America stared in shock, but mostly just feeling conflicted with this action.

"Wait, isn't this kind of a bad time to get drunk?" He was on the verge of death and the last thing he wanted to do was to drink alcohol? It made no sense to America.

"Kid. Soviet Russia doesn't get drunk from one bottle," USSR replied, laughing, "You, on the other hand, are a different story."

"I don't get drunk that quickly," America said, offended by the unnecessary comment.

"Sure you don't," Soviet chuckled, "Just like back then."

"I was like fifteen, give me a break!" America looked around. "Here. I'll prove it to you, give me one."

USSR sighed and handed him a similar bottle to the one that he was drinking. "This is added to that debt you still owe me from back then," he said, chuckling in a muse.

"Yeah, yeah. You're dying anyway, so why does that matter anymore."

One thing they could relate over was their dark humor. Although America could get offended over a lot of things, USSR didn't mind a joke or two.

"This brings me back to the old times. Watching you kill yourself with alcohol, I mean." He smiled, excited to see America's reaction to this.

"Oh shut up," America said in his usual overconfident voice and gulped down one huge sip before he put the bottle down in instant regret. The burn stung his throat uncontrollably. He tried to hide his face expression from the USSR as much as he could, which proved to be quite a futile attempt as he has already observed everything.

"Sorry, was that too much for you?" Soviet chuckled sarcastically, finishing up his first bottle with ease.

"T-That's not regular vodka," America answered in defense, his voice shaking.

Squinting, he checked his own bottle to see what he took. "Oops, you're right. I must've mixed it up with pure spirit."

America's deception was seen clearly in his eyes. He didn't believe a single word from that bullshit statement. He set up him for sure. "T-This is why I hate you," he stuttered, covering his mouth.

"Oh, give me a break, I'm dying here, as you kindly pointed out before. Might as well get a last good laugh at you," he responded with a chuckle. With the hand he still had, USSR touched the left side of his face, which was already breaking apart. He sighed, smiling, "I guess we did have some good times in the midst of all that fighting though, huh?"

"Yeah," America sighed, his smile turning into a sad one. He then looked out the window. "You sure you don't want me to get him right now? I don't think you have much time," he said sympathetically.

"No. Don't, please."

"Do you want me to leave?"

USSR shook his head. "No. I actually need to tell you something while I still can."

America asked, "What is it?"

"I wish we could've made things better sooner, but I'm glad I have Russia to do that for me," he explained in an unusually soft tone, then looking back at the photograph again, he sadly smiled. "Please look out for him."

"I will."

His voice breaking away, he answered in an unintentional stutter, "T-Thank you..."

America really didn't want to witness it, but in the span of the next thirty seconds, the USSR faded away right before his eyes, and his spirit disappeared right along with him.

All that was left was an empty bottle and a forgotten feeling of sorrow he didn't want to remember.

But in the midst of all that confusion, America knew one thing for sure—

It was time to go talk to him.


	10. The Final Piece

Sounds of tires screeching against the muddy snow and the foul stench of city air was all Russia could focus his attention on. He balanced himself against the railing of a bridge, watching as the broken ice tiles moved in odd, but calming patterns below him. They clashed against one another as they melted and broke further apart, initiating the start of a new season.

Something about it made him glad that he couldn't see his own reflection right now. His eyelids felt heavy, and his mouth wouldn't bother to speak a word. He wanted to feel something, to say something, or maybe even to remember something he used to treasure, but it felt as if anything that held on to him moments before had just evaporated into thin air.

A sudden gust of wind made him look up for a moment—just a moment. It passed by him quickly, but somehow it made him reminisce on the thought of his father. He couldn't understand why he decided to forgive him, maybe it was because of the longing pain that afflicted him for so long. Letting go of everything made him feel better, lighter, and renewed as a person. He didn't want to think about it for long, however, knowing what the inevitable awaits, and dug into his jacket to reach out something that would keep his mind elsewhere.

It was a tiny snow globe. He saw it in his apartment and decided to take it with him. If he could remember correctly, this was a small birthday present he received from America a couple of decades ago.

He observed it and let his hidden feelings for him overcome his depressive state of mind. America's smile, his kindness, his charismatic personality... it made him feel as giddy as a first grader just from thinking about him. He can also be cute at times too if he wasn't usually so stubborn.

It made Russia genuinely smile. America's presence brought joy to his heart every moment he laid eyes on him, and Russia was well aware of that. As much as he'd try to wear the mask on an emotionless sad man, he'd still find the heart to deeply care for everything that America has done for him. Every time they'd talk Russia would forget all the mental pain that inflicted him only moments before, and that was truly something no one has ever been able to do for him.

Just thinking of him made Russia forget about his family dilemmas for at least a moment, but that mere moment would stretch into an entire eternity; an eternity of love, fulfillment, strength, and perseverance. It brought him a new kind of confidence in himself that his family never allowed him to have.

In short, America was important to him, whether he was going to blatantly admit it, or not. He put the tiny thing back into his jacket pocket and let out a long sad sigh.

Hearing sudden footsteps becoming noticeably louder behind him, he turned around to see who it was.

With panted breaths, America had his hands on his knees and the most disturbing face expression Russia has ever seen on him. It displayed a mixture of regret, sorrow, and maybe even a little anger. Relaxing his shoulders, Russia huffed a short sigh.

Something about America's rare look of seriousness on his face gave off a tiny inkling on what might be wrong. It may be small, but the worry of it was big enough to scab at a sensitive place in Russia's heart.

"A-America?"

The shorter country stood up slowly, wavering in one place. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, even just a word, but no audible noises of any kind escaped his shaking lips. He was completely mute for a second. Even America looked confused for a moment and looked down at his trembling hands which he then curled into fists out of frustration.

It was so hard to be strong and content with yourself when the mentality of another person was at stake. But not even just a regular person, but someone who you love and cherish—someone who has already been hurt for so long.

Russia sympathized with him and brought his hand up to the air. "America, are you alright—?"

A snowflake got caught in his left eye, as Russia widened his eyes out of shock. He stood as still as a statue for a moment with America's body wrapped around him. The boy's embrace was warm and sincere, and everything about it was sweet and delightful. Everything but one thing—the warmth itself.

"I-I'm s-so sorry Russia..." America cried into his jacket. He didn't want to see Russia's pained face, he didn't want to see him hurt anymore because of him, so he kept his head tucked in Russia's chest to avoid looking at him. But that didn't stop himself from heating up in embarrassment because of it. It didn't matter to him though, he couldn't keep his emotions held back anymore.

After standing and whimpering in one place for what seemed like forever, he felt a pat on his back and looked up at Russia in tears. Everything about him looked as if he was in deep despair and sorrow like he knew exactly what had happened. But there was one feature that stood out. It was his smile. Despite looking as if he was about to break down any moment with him, he was smiling like America has never seen him do before.

"R-Russia?" America asked.

Russia sighed in a low, barely audible voice, "It's okay."

America clung onto his jacket. "I-It's your dad," his voice shook, "he's—"

"I know," Russia said softly. Suddenly, like anytime they spent together, all the memories of pain and hurt faded and felt like an eternity away. Everything he had held onto so desperately and for so long has finally let itself go.

"A-America?" Russia stuttered with a blush.

"Yes—?"

America's eyes widened as he felt the sudden warmth of Russia's lips. He closed his eyes and let his last wet tear freeze over the sorrow of fated death. Russia pulled him in closer while his mind hazed off from longing this moment for so long. He wanted this sweet sensation to last forever and savored every last bit of it for as long as he could.

When they parted America looked up, his eyes still wide and confused. "Y-You... don't hate me then?" he asked, panting in between his words.

"You're such a clueless idiot," Russia replied, "I wish I could."

...

A small little cafe down the block was where they went to stop by and get breakfast. It was already nearing six in the morning so the streets were starting to look busier and busier with each minute. Staying up all night didn't do too much good though, and America especially was already gulping down his fifth cup of coffee because of it.

The shorter country tapped on his cup out of a nervous habit. "I'm really sorry. I couldn't stop it from happening—"

"It's fine. I don't want you to worry over me anyway." Russia looked out the small window and sighed, "It'll take some time for me to adjust, but in the end, it'll be alright," he said, trying to sound as convincing as he could.

"If you don't mind me asking though... how did you know?" America curiously raised his eyebrows.

Russia smiled and grabbed his hand, pulling him closer. "Because of this," he said, making America flush in a red hue.

It clicked in his head, then—the cold, the icy feeling, everything. It finally made sense to America. If he could get any redder than he already was, it was at that moment. "T-Then, do you really..." He fidgeted with his fingers and looked to the side to avoid eye contact. "Love me, like that?"

"What do you think I lost my memories over?"

"So you remember everything then?"

"I don't know," Russia replied, "What I do know is that when I come close to you," he whispered, leaning over the table, "—I get a strange feeling that I have never felt with anyone I have ever met before."

"Well, the same goes for me... I was just too afraid to admit it," America confessed and played with the hem of the table cloth. A few minutes passed like this.

Leaning on his arm now, Russia asked out of curiosity, "What did he say?"

"What?"

"Before he, you know—"

America nodded, saying, "He apologized."

"I see," Russia said hesitantly, "He didn't want me there though. Why damn it? I wish I could've—"

"Russia," America interrupted, "He had a good reason to."

"But still..."

"I love you a lot," America tried saying without sounding upset again, "That's why I don't want to see you hurt anymore because of me."

Russia's gaze relaxed. "America—"

America's hands clenched, resting atop his legs. He finally found the strength in him to say, "Just tell me alright? If you ever need anything, even if it's the middle of the night, I don't care, just tell me. I'll fly over here anytime."

Russia blushed at the kind gesture. "Thank you," he said, pausing for a moment, "For everything, really."

"Don't be, I didn't do anything special—"

"You're wrong," Russia said with a soft but confident voice, "You saved me from myself and that's more than anyone has ever done for me." America felt awkward when he said that for sure, but at the same time, he was glad that Russia had felt that way about him.

"I love you," America quickly spurted out, "I-I just wanted you to know that. I've never done this before so I don't know if that what I'm supposed to say or—"

"Я тебя тоже люблю." (I love you too)

America stopped and raised a brow. "I don't speak your language dude," he said, blushing nervously. He really liked Russia's language but never found the time to learn it himself.

"I know," Russia answered, "So you'll have to learn it now to know what I said."

"Hey," America whined, "That's not fair."

"Life not fair, what can I say?" Russia chuckled.

America crossed his arms and huffed, "Even when I'm in love with you, you still find a way to piss me off, you know that?"

Russia teased, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that! Wow, I can't believe I actually finished this. For my first fanfiction in this fandom, and my second story I've ever written, I'm actually quite proud of it. Let me know your thoughts and opinions in the comments and maybe tell me what you might want to see me write more in the future. Thanks for all your support on this you guys! I know most of you already know this, but I have other books out as well and I will be making more in the near future hopefully <3


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